A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 303: Side Story, The Marquis (9) A Wall Street Genius’s Final Investment Playbook He had bribed one of Rachel’s staff members to obtain the gu

He had bribed one of Rachel’s staff members to obtain the guest list, but had only skimmed through it briefly. He hadn’t even bothered to memorize their names, faces, or professions.

Why would he? It was a party he had intended to ruin—why waste time learning the names of commoners?

‘Damn it... I didn’t see this coming...!’

He had wandered around the venue for nearly an hour before the First Lady arrived, yet hadn’t exchanged a single meaningful word with any of the common guests. Now, in this unprecedented crisis, Desmond realized he had to say something—anything.

“There are indeed many fascinating people here tonight. For example, this gentleman right here...”

He quickly grabbed the nearest person who looked ordinary enough. A man wearing a cheap rental tuxedo—he radiated “working class.” Desmond didn’t know what kind of business he was in, but assumed he could improvise something about supporting small entrepreneurs through the Marquis Foundation.

That was the plan—

But the man tilted his head awkwardly.

“Uh... excuse me, I’m an artist.”

“An artist?”

Rachel’s list did include a few artists, and by sheer bad luck, Desmond had picked one. For a moment, his expression froze, but he forced out a laugh.

“Ah, my apologies! I thought you were someone I’d already met. I’m terrible with faces, you see.”

He quickly moved on, trying again with someone else. But—

“Sorry, I’m actually a translator. I’m here accompanying a guest.”

“I’m... the event manager here, sir.”

Desmond’s “guest-identifying skills” were abysmal. He had somehow managed to single out only staff members—none of them actual invitees. At first, it could be brushed off as a small mistake. But as it happened repeatedly, his excuses grew weaker and weaker.

“I never used to make these kinds of mistakes... I suppose I really am getting old.”

The First Lady’s expression slowly shifted—from polite patience to clear disappointment. The protocol Desmond displayed was nothing but clumsy and uninformed.

And in that painful moment, the truth hit him.

‘That damned Gerard... this was his plan all along!’

Handling a presidential family’s protocol isn’t something you can do on the spot. Welcoming top-level dignitaries means that every moment they see must be perfectly orchestrated. Each guest becomes an actor on a stage, each greeting a carefully crafted political message. That’s what true high-level hosting demands—weeks, even months of preparation.

Gerard, who had known in advance about the Trenton family’s attendance, had surely done all that groundwork. Desmond, on the other hand, had been thrown into the spotlight blind. The Marquis family’s dignity was gone, replaced by the fumbling of an unprepared amateur.

If things continued this way, his reputation would suffer irreparable damage. There was only one move left.

“Gerard, Rachel... I think it would be best if you two handled the introductions.”

As Gerard and Rachel took charge of the protocol, the atmosphere quickly grew warm and friendly.

“I still remember it. When you sand drywall, all that white dust gets into your hair and even your nose…”

“I learned to never paint on Fridays. The cleaners come in and stir up all the dust and grit.”

“Exactly! Then all that dust sticks to the wall! You really know your stuff~”

An unexpected bond was formed. In fact, the President’s children had worked from the ground up since they were young, learning to do hands-on labor to gain real-world experience. So, they could easily connect with people who had gone through similar situations.

But even as everyone chatted cheerfully, Desmond sat stiffly, glaring at Gerard. He was starting to realize he had walked into a trap.

‘You should’ve been more careful.’

In truth, this entire situation had been orchestrated by Gerard. He knew his uncles would never let him handle the presidential family’s protocol. To take control, he had to make them act first — and his prediction was right on target.

However, his younger uncle had made a fatal mistake in the process.

‘Telling a lie.’

Desmond had claimed he was the one managing communications with Trenton’s team, even though he had no idea what had actually been discussed. That lie was a deadly misstep for Desmond — and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Gerard.

“It’s nice to talk about this again. It brings back memories.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Actually, it wasn’t me who invited everyone tonight. It was my uncle Desmond here.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, though I think he might’ve mistaken him for the interpreter earlier…”

When Gerard publicly gave him credit, Desmond froze.

“Isn’t that right, Uncle?”

“Uh… ahem, yes, that’s right. My memory’s been a bit foggy these days…”

A suspicious glint appeared in his eyes. ‘What game are you playing now?’ But Gerard just shrugged casually, hiding the sharp calculation behind his calm expression.

‘If I push him too aggressively now, I’ll look petty.’

No matter what was going on, the presidential family wouldn’t look kindly on internal family conflict. So Gerard planned to take the opposite approach. When his unprepared uncle inevitably revealed his incompetence, Gerard would step in as the helpful nephew who sincerely tried to assist.

With a bright smile, Gerard announced the next part of the evening. “Well then, shall we move on?”

Next came the dinner. Each round table was set for ten guests, and now it was Uncle Desmond’s turn — as the designated host — to lead the conversation.

However—

“When you take office, I truly believe America will move in a better direction. Congratulations, sir.”

“Thank you so much. Are there any particular policies or changes you’re looking forward to?”

“Of course. There are many, but if I had to pick just one…”

Desmond trailed off. No wonder — all of Trenton’s campaign pledges were… well, problematic.

—We’re going to build a wall! A big, beautiful wall so nobody can sneak across the border! (The anti-immigration border wall.) If he supported that, customers from Mexico and South America would surely boycott Marquis.

—China stole all our jobs! Now we’re bringing those jobs back to America! (If he agreed to withdraw factories from China, Marquis’s business foundation would collapse entirely.)

—Tariffs…! (That was the worst one. It would throw the entire global supply chain into chaos.)

“Hmm, what was I just about to say…? It’s slipped my mind. Ever had that happen?”

“Yes, I understand.”

The First Lady smiled softly. But her eyes were cold. Hosting the presidential family and failing to hold even a basic conversation — it was an embarrassment.

At that moment, Gerard stepped in.

“Uncle, why not tell them about Art Nest?”

“Art Nest…?”

Desmond blinked, confused by the sudden mention, while Gerard turned to the First Lady.

“My uncle recently came up with a wonderful idea. I think it aligns perfectly with President-elect Trenton’s plans for budget efficiency.”

“Really? I’d love to hear more about it.”

“You won’t be disappointed. I was impressed myself when I first heard it… Uncle?”

Gerard politely handed him the floor. But Desmond just glared at him discreetly, unable to say a word. How could he? He knew nothing about it.

Finally, he spoke. “Since you brought it up, why don’t you explain?”

He tried to pass the explanation back to Gerard. But Gerard shook his head.

“I couldn’t possibly. It wouldn’t be proper for me to speak out of turn in such an important setting.”

“…Well, if I allow it, then it’s fine. Go ahead.”

“As you always say, Uncle — I’m still inexperienced. I wouldn’t want to misrepresent your idea.”

“That was… meant as encouragement for you to try harder.”

“But—”

“The First Lady is waiting!”

Pressed by Desmond’s irritation, Gerard finally spoke.

“Rachel’s Art Nest is a model for supporting artists through market forces. The idea is to strengthen the private art ecosystem so it can gradually reduce reliance on government funding.”

As Gerard explained the Art Nest concept — Rachel’s idea — the First Lady’s expression brightened with interest. Coincidentally, Trenton was planning major government budget cuts, and cultural programs were sure to be affected. Gerard’s proposal offered the perfect justification for trimming the arts budget.

“Introducing market mechanisms… how fascinating. I never imagined such an approach could work in the arts.” Gerard smiled gently.

“As I said, this wasn’t my idea. My uncle mentioned it just last week. And didn’t you say, Uncle, that you were preparing a cooperation plan tied to the new administration’s launch?”

Desmond’s face went pale at the unexpected flattery. Meanwhile, the First Lady smiled at him warmly — though he was too flustered to appreciate the irony.

“I’d love to hear more about that part, Mr. Desmond.”

“Uncle?”

No matter how many times he called, there was nothing Desmond could say. So in the end, there was only one answer he could give.

“I… can’t quite remember. Why don’t you explain it instead?”

But just then—

Rupert, who had been sitting at the same table with a sour expression, suddenly cut in.

“Are you sure you’re not the one with dementia?”

His tone was unusually sharp and cutting. “You can’t remember a single thing you said… that’s pure dementia if I’ve ever seen it.”

At that moment, Rupert’s face carried not just satisfaction, but a hint of malice. When people had once started treating him like a senile old man, it was Desmond who had mocked him first — saying he was “so stupid, it was bound to happen.” And now, the petty Rupert was finally taking his revenge.

“Maybe it’s time you got yourself tested.”

“W-what! You—!”

Desmond, furious, nearly raised his voice — but quickly turned toward the First Lady.

“It’s not dementia! I’ve always prided myself on my memory. It’s just… I’ve been overwhelmed lately, that’s all!”

“Oh, I see… So, you’re saying your memory’s been declining recently?”

“N-no! I mean, I’ve just had too much to keep track of these days!”

The First Lady smiled kindly. “Yes, I understand. I’ve been getting forgetful myself lately.”

It was an overly gentle smile. The faint displeasure she had shown moments ago was gone — replaced instead by a look of patient sympathy.

Of course. For the First Lady, there was only one logical reason why the man responsible for hosting the President’s family would forget everything — from the arrangements to the conversation topics.

Dementia…! Rupert’s taunt had hit its mark perfectly.

At that instant, a line flashed through Gerard’s mind — something he’d once read.

‘When market liquidity shifts, you must seek new opportunities within the new flow.’

In that sense, Gerard had just discovered a new opportunity.

“My uncle doesn’t have memory problems. It’s just that he’s been managing so many projects at once that his brain’s a little overloaded.”

“...!”

Desmond blinked, startled by Gerard suddenly coming to his defense. But Gerard didn’t stop there.

“Besides Art Nest, he’s also been developing a new product line using social commerce.”

Social commerce. In truth, that was Gerard’s own ambitious business plan — a strategy to launch a new line of molecular gastronomy products through bold, viral campaigns on social media. And ironically, it was the very project Desmond had fiercely opposed.

Yet here was Gerard, making it sound as if it had been Desmond’s idea all along. Desmond’s face turned red with anger.

“When—when did I ever say that?!”

He had seen through Gerard’s scheme instantly. “Don’t twist my words! Just because I forgot something doesn’t mean I said what I didn’t say! I never said that!”

But his voice — raised in fury — came off loud and rude, completely unfit for a formal dinner. Gerard glanced at the First Lady with a complex, subtle expression. An apology mixed with quiet concern — as if asking her to forgive his uncle’s distress.

“I’m so sorry. My uncle didn’t mean to raise his voice at me. He’s usually very composed… but lately he’s been having emotional outbursts from time to time.”

“...!”

A glimmer of realization crossed the First Lady’s eyes. Sudden emotional bursts. Shouting unexpectedly at family. All classic signs of early-stage dementia.

Gerard turned back to his uncle and spoke calmly.

“Uncle, do you really not remember?”